Ripper
by Soshite
Summary: Rupert had always wanted to be a fighter pilot or a grocer; never once did he anticipate that he was meant for greater things. He certainly hadn't expected to become involved with ghosts, demons and vampires. Past-fic featuring Rupert Giles.


**Title:** Ripper

**Author:** Soshite

**Summary:** Rupert had always wanted to be a fighter pilot or a grocer; never once did he anticipate that he was meant for greater things. He certainly hadn't expected to become involved with ghosts, demons and vampires. Giles' life before Buffy.

**Rated:** T

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Rupert Giles or any part of the Buffy the Vampire Slayers series. They belong to Joss Whedon and the WB and whoever else happened to own them.

**Prologue**

_In which we start in the middle._

_October 30, 1978_

_Somewhere near Greenwich_

Once upon a time, Rupert Giles, age ten, would have readily told you that (when he grew up) he wanted to become a fighter pilot or a grocer. Whichever was supposed to be the more fun occupation. Little Rupert had such amazing expectations of himself, but when he became older he fancied being a historian. It seemed more practical than being a grocer and Rupert was no slouch when it came to reciting random facts about Cleopatra's heritage at the drop of a hat. Oh, yes. He was quite good at history.

Still, such dreams were pushed aside when his father came up to him one fine day and told him of his 'destiny'.

To put it simply, his destiny stunk like week old mouldy cheese. And so, in a fit of rebellion, Rupert dropped out of school. This act got him to hanging around the wrong crowd, which ended up with Rupert doing quite a few things he knew he would survive to regret, which led him to his current predicament.

He was beginning to wish for those carefree days of when he had dreamed of becoming a grocer.

"Rupert, you're doing it wrong."

"It's Ripper."

"Rupert, Ripper, _Roger_…I don't care what you're called as long as you're correcting your mistake."

"You're lucky you're a lady – no matter how loosely that term is in relation to you – or I'd do something we'd both regret."

"And you're lucky I'm not in the mood to _box your ears_! Now pay attention, Rupert!"

The road to redemption was a long and hard one indeed, but he would endure it. He had no right to complain after what he had done and Ripper had a lot to make up for. He just wished his 'parole officer' wasn't so uptight. God, he hoped he never turned out like her. She was such a square.

Ms. Arlin Pendragon; she was a woman seemingly in her twenties (Ripper had tried to ask her age once, but she just gave him a dirty look that told him to leave the topic well enough alone) who acted older than she looked and had this perpetual look of disapproval on her face. And that was a pity, because if she learned to loosen up a little, Ripper might have considered her to be quite shaggable, though the idea of having a roll in the sack with her was probably as revolting to her as it was to him. As far as they were both concerned, Arlin was his ever watchful warden and Ripper her ever wayward felon and it was to remain that way for a long time.

It had been that way for a long while already, though Ripper had no idea just how long his personal Watcher's Watcher had been keeping an eye on him.

When he would ask that of her at some point, she'd merely respond with a decidedly sullen, "A _very_ long time, Rupert."

Hey, if someone had to be exasperated with their situation, it would have to be _him_. The young man of twenty-three found it grossly unfair that he had to be bossed around by someone as small and petite as Arlin. And if her incessant nagging wasn't going to drive him up the wall, her tweed suits would. Good lord, that woman had an inordinate amount of tweed in her wardrobe. Give Ripper some jeans and a leather jacket any day.

"Ripper! Concentrate!"

"Agh!"

This night they had been studying up on some elemental magic with some tricky precision work in building up a steady flame. Nothing fancy, but if not cultivated or monitored correctly, this could spell disaster. They had decided to do this small bit of training in the backyard of Arlin's home…not that Ripper really needed the training, but he soon understood that humouring the woman from time to time got her off his back for a good.

However, since he couldn't master something as simple and basic as making a fireball in the palm of his hand without it about to scorch his hand was rather _frustrating_. He had successfully summoned a demon, got into amazing black arts the likes no regular man had ever seen and hotwired cars so fast it made you dizzy, but he couldn't do something as simple as make fire? Something a _caveman_ could do with a pair of sticks?

It was insulting.

The last few attempts since six that evening when he came round to Arlin's house for more training had been abysmal and had the skin of his left palm sizzling and developing blisters. Once the fireball could not be contained and shot out, catching Arlin's blonde hair on fire. Thankfully, she had had a cup of tea on hand at the time and quickly dumped it on herself. This led to a lecture about playing with fire and the woman changing into yet another one of her tweed suits. Ripper had been amused to notice that the bun she kept her hair was tied up tighter than usual and her clothes just a tad more form fitting. Paranoid? Arlin had ever right to be.

This time, the fireball had shot outwards, but the blonde woman did not catch fire. Unfortunately, Ripper did manage to set fire to her roses, which could not be saved, in the end. In his defence, this had been her idea to be practicing such basic light magic, when she knew his forte laid with black magic. The Watcher-to-be couldn't bring himself to say it out loud, not when she looked at her roses so mournfully. As crass as he was, Ripper did know when to keep his mouth shut.

Arlin took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing at the loss of her prized flowers.

She levelled her blue eyes up at Ripper, who had the sense to look a little sheepish at what he had inadvertently done.

Another sigh escaped her lips.

"Why do I put up with you?" she asked of him, sounding incredibly world-weary.

"Because my father put you up to it?" Ripper supplied. Arlin frowned, then slapped his arm hard enough to make him wince. She gestured for him to follow her back into the house; she wisely decided that they were both done for the night and they had quite a bit of a day ahead of them.

"Oh, if only," Arlin replied with feigned irritation. "If it was _just_ your father, I would have quit while I was still ahead." She took off her shoes at the back door and immediately put on her slippers. Her not-quite-a-student followed behind her, tracking dirt everywhere he went with his boots. Sighing again, Arlin flitted towards the kitchen to put a kettle on.

Ripper took a seat at the kitchen table, about to put his feet up on it when he found a biscuit being tossed at his head. He caught it just in time.

"So, I'm curious…Why?" Ripper and Arlin had known each other for years now. Ever since his school boy, days, in fact; she only really started becoming a fixture in his life since he was accepted into Oxford and then speedily dropped out of it. She had been sent by the Watcher's Council to rein him in and hadn't managed it at all…not until that particular incident happened. He rubbed his left arm at the memory.

And even then, he only did what he was told to avoid too much confrontation with her. Or lectures. It seemed Arlin had an opinion on anything and everything.

But she had been the rock he needed to ground himself with, as well as a great source of annoyance, though he would never admit it to her.

She wasn't looking at him again. Arlin always avoided this question. He entertained the thought that she was around because of his father after all and what power he had over her position; he also privately thought that maybe, deep down inside that tweed outer shell, she did care a little more than she should, which went against one of the major rules concerning Watchers. Such a bad example Arlin was, in that area, but exemplary in others.

Ripper did wonder what drove her to find him and to chase after him without rest all these years.

"Do you regret ever meeting me?" Ripper asked after a brief bout of silence between them. The water was still heating up on the stove. Arlin had been fishing around the cabinets in search of what he assumed had to be the tea, but was a little surprised when she pulled out a First Aid kit instead. She brought the box over to the table and dropped it in front of him. With deft hands, she opened the box and started pulling some of the supplies out to fix his burnt hands.

While she worked there was this quiet, enigmatic smile on her lips.

"Rupert, dear heart, you're the highlight of my life."

Ripper had the urge to say 'bollocks', but, with great sagacity that men his age normally lacked, he did not speak a word and let Arlin do her job.

"Rupert?" asked inquiringly. The blonde woman was curious as to why she had been asked this question.

"_Ripper_," he insisted, hissing as his raw hand stung from the anti-septic being applied with a cotton swab.

"Rupert, Ripper, Regina, Roger, _Ronald_." Arlin rolled her eyes at him. But then she was back on track. "Why do you ask?"

It was Ripper's turn to sigh. "Just asking for the sake of asking."

"Mmm-hmm."

Silence, broken occasionally by a wince of pain and the shuffling of fabric.

The Watcher-to-be spoke up again. "Arlin?"

She was now wrapping up his hand with clean bandages. "What?"

He pursed his lips, then scowled as he turned his gaze towards the beige wall of Arlin's kitchen. "I'm sorry about the roses."

As a response, she poked his forehead. There was this haughty look on Arlin's face as she crossed her arms, a fine brow rising as she gazed steadily at him.

"If you're really sorry, then you won't object to coming over tomorrow to continue training with me."

Ripper was startled. But then scowled at her, not believing what he was hearing. He had said he was sorry, had almost burnt his hands off on her whims and she still insisted on working him some more? And on Halloween no less?

"You're a cruel, cruel person, Arlin."

"I'll take that as a compliment."


End file.
